Chapter 9 - Curiosity

The next day, the village buzzed with a quiet but growing curiosity. Whispers swirled through the market like an undercurrent beneath the usual bartering and haggling.

"Did you hear about the hooded alchemist?"

"He sold patterned pills… spiritual ones. And cheap."

"Never seen him before. Think he's from another village?"

Even those who hadn't witnessed the sale directly spoke of it as though they had, each retelling stretching the tale further. By mid-morning, the mysterious pill-seller had become a small sensation among the villagers, especially the young cultivators yearning for any edge in their training.

In a dimly lit corner of the market, the village's resident alchemist, a man named Belar, drummed his fingers against the worn counter of his humble stall. His face was lined with both age and the residue of countless failed concoctions. The night before, he had seen those pills—each adorned with the delicate spirals of spiritual patterning—and the memory gnawed at him. Such precision wasn't the work of an amateur.

"Who was he?" Belar muttered under his breath, his mind racing through the list of known practitioners within the village and nearby settlements. None matched the hooded figure's skill. The patterns on those pills had been too precise, the spiritual lines flowing with an elegance born from experience. No shaky hands of a novice could achieve that. Alchemy was a delicate art—too much heat, and a pill was ruined; too little, and its essence evaporated. Belar had spent years battling those fine margins, yet this stranger seemed to have mastered them with ease. It gnawed at him—was it a wandering alchemist seeking to test the waters here? Or perhaps someone from a sect, disguising their origins? His fingers drummed faster on the counter. "No… there's something off about him."

Meanwhile, Kalia and Joran stood near a weapons stall, their conversation drifting into the realm of speculation.

"You think it could be De-Reece?" Kalia asked, her arms crossed.

Joran scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "De-Reece? Please. He's a drifter with a half-starved pet. Alchemy like that… that's the work of someone trained. Probably from one of the bigger towns."

Kalia frowned but said nothing. A small part of her wondered—there was something about De-Reece that didn't sit right. His quietness, his sharpness… and the way his creature, Solar, seemed just a little too attuned to him.

Unbeknownst to them, the village head, Elder Faen, had caught wind of the rumours. A stern but fair man with a grizzled beard and calculating eyes, he listened as a young villager recounted the tale.

"Spiritual pills? In this village?" Faen murmured, his brow furrowing as he weighed the implications. The presence of such pills wasn't just unusual—it was alarming. Pills like those could push a cultivator at the peak of body tempering over the threshold into qi condensation. A critical moment, one Faen himself had struggled through years ago. "Keep an eye out. If he returns, I want to know—who he speaks to, what he buys or sells, everything. Someone with that skill doesn't simply appear without reason.""

The order was subtle—but the web of attention around the hooded alchemist had begun to tighten.

De-Reece, meanwhile, sat cross-legged in his modest room, his fingers tracing the smooth curves of a remaining healing pill. The sales had gone well—too well. The ripples were already spreading faster than he had anticipated. The night before, under the cover of darkness, he had ventured out once more—this time with his remaining pills carefully split into separate bottles. Hooded and silent, he sold each for 50 bronze or 1 silver according to the price, his movements swift and calculated. The whispered transactions were over in moments, and when the last bottle left his hand, he melted into the night, using the barest whisper of Shadow Phantom Steps to slip away unnoticed.

When he returned, the scent of roasted spiritual beast meat filled the air. With the extra coin from his sales, he had treated both himself and Solar to a rare feast—rich, tender meat pulsing faintly with lingering qi. It wasn't just nourishment; it was cultivation fuel. As they ate, Solar devoured its share with feral enthusiasm, the faint flicker of golden light sparking around his fur. De-Reece ate slowly, mind churning even as the rare meal strengthened his body. The energy thrum of the beast's qi seemed to resonate with his own, a subtle pulse that teased the edges of his cultivation.

Somewhere in the middle of body tempering. He had opened five nodes, each a step on the arduous path but still far from the threshold of qi condensation. Over the past few days in the village, De-Reece had subtly inquired about cultivation, piecing together the local understanding. Body tempering was the first stage, followed by qi condensation and then core formation. Yet, something gnawed at him—body tempering here spoke of nine meridians to be opened, but De-Reece had always known there to be twelve. Was it a misunderstanding on his part, or was there something this world did not know? The pills weren't just profit—they were stepping stones, each one a small push forward in his cultivation.

He considered his next move carefully. Laying low seemed the most logical choice, but there was a gnawing feeling in his chest—a sense that simply retreating into the shadows wouldn't get him any closer to his goal.

His brothers.

If the sect selection truly was his path forward, he needed both strength and standing. An alchemist wasn't just a cultivator—they were a force of influence, a maker of power. Perhaps crafting more pills—slightly more advanced ones, this time—could edge him further into the village's consciousness.

His gaze flickered to Solar, who was curled up by the window, the faint glow of qi still simmering beneath its fur from the body tempering pill the night before.

"What do you think, Solar?" De-Reece mused. "Should we step a little further into the storm?"

The creature blinked slowly, its violet eyes steady.

Decision made, De-Reece leaned back, already planning the next night's work. This time, he would push the pills further—testing his limits as both an alchemist and a cultivator.

The quiet ripples in the village pond were growing. It was only a matter of time before the waves began.

That night, under the pale gleam of a waning moon, De-Reece sat before the small, makeshift alchemy station he'd fashioned in his room. The flickering light of a single candle danced across the array of spiritual herbs and powders he'd gathered over the past days. There was a new tension in the air—the whisper of a village growing more curious, more watchful—but De-Reece forced himself to focus.

He couldn't afford to slip. Not now.

The lingering taste of spiritual beast meat still hummed in his blood, a faint echo of qi reinforcing his tempered body. His five opened meridians thrummed softly beneath his skin, aching to be strengthened. Body tempering was a slow, brutal climb, and while he had subtly gathered knowledge about this world's cultivation paths, the contradiction gnawed at him. Nine meridians, they said—but he knew of twelve. Was he mistaken? Or was this world simply blind to a deeper truth?

He pushed the thought aside.

Tonight's goal was clear: craft two new batches of pills—low-level spiritual-lined healing pills and body tempering pills—but this time, he'd take a calculated risk.

"Solar," De-Reece said softly, casting a glance at the curled-up creature on his bed. "Come here."

Solar stretched languidly, golden flecks of qi shimmering along its fur as it padded over. De-Reece held out a small herb, one faintly pulsing with spiritual energy. "Just a touch of your qi," he instructed, his voice steady. "Like we practiced."

The small beast blinked slowly before exhaling a near-invisible thread of violet-gold qi. It swirled delicately around the herb, imbuing it with a soft glow before dissipating. De-Reece wasted no time, grinding the herb into the mixture for the body tempering pills, careful not to overwhelm the concoction. It was a dangerous gamble—too much foreign qi could destabilize the pill—but if balanced correctly, the result would be sharper, more potent.

He worked through the night, hands steady as he refined the spiritual essence of each ingredient, merging them in delicate, precise steps. The cauldron hissed and crackled, releasing faint trails of steam laced with the aroma of herbs and power. Hours slipped by, the quiet punctuated only by the bubbling of the cauldron and Solar's faint breaths.

When the last pill solidified into its smooth, patterned form, De-Reece allowed himself a small exhale of relief.

Ten healing pills.

Ten body tempering pills.

All lined with spiritual patterns, faint but flawless. The added touch of Solar's qi made the body-tempering pills hum with a quiet strength—nothing overt, but to a discerning cultivator, the difference would be noticeable.

The effort hadn't gone unrewarded. As De-Reece leaned back, he felt a subtle shift within himself—a whisper of qi gained from the sheer act of pill creation. He had noticed it before, but alchemy wasn't just an art—it was a form of cultivation. The delicate balance of spiritual energy, the channelling of his own qi to control the process—it all fed back into him, a loop of creation and growth.

He picked up a body-tempering pill, examining the faint spiral lines. "We're getting there," he murmured.

Solar watched him, unblinking.

Without hesitation, De-Reece tossed a pill to Solar. "Here," he said. "Let's both grow stronger."

The beast caught it neatly, swallowing it whole. A faint ripple of golden light flared across its fur before fading.

Satisfied, De-Reece crossed his legs and began meditating, drawing in the lingering qi from the alchemical process. His meridians throbbed faintly—not enough to open a new one, but enough to reinforce the five already unlocked. An hour passed in stillness before fatigue finally pulled at him.

He slept lightly, the pills secured in small, separate bottles tucked beneath his mattress.

The morning came too soon.

De-Reece moved with purpose, slipping through the village streets cloaked in a simple brown robe, hood drawn low. He worked quickly at the market, selling the new pills in hushed exchanges. Each bottle—containing a single pill—sold for 50 to 100 bronze. The quiet but eager hands of young cultivators snapped them up, their eyes gleaming with desperate hope.

This time, he felt the eyes on him.

Belar, the village alchemist, lingered too long at the edge of a nearby stall, pretending to inspect a bundle of herbs while his gaze flicked to De-Reece's hidden form. A shadow passed twice near the alley—one of Elder Faen's men, no doubt.

De-Reece finished his last sale swiftly, tucking away the silver and bronze coins before slipping into the maze of alleyways. With a whisper of Shadow Phantom Steps, his form flickered—just enough to slip from view, vanishing into the morning haze.

That evening, the market buzzed louder than before.

"He's back again. Sold more pills."

"The spiritual-lined ones?"

"Yes—and they felt stronger this time. Not by much… but different."

Belar's jaw tightened as he listened to the rumours. Stronger pills? It wasn't a fluke—this alchemist was skilled, improving, and deliberately keeping to the shadows. There was intent behind it.

And Elder Faen… well, his quiet watch over the situation only seemed to deepen.

As the village murmured, De-Reece sat cross-legged in his room once more, Solar curled by his side.

"One more step," De-Reece whispered. "We push further."

The ripples were spreading—and soon, they'd become waves.

The next morning, the village buzzed with subdued anticipation. Word of the hooded alchemist's return had spread like wildfire, and De-Reece could feel the shift in the air. Conversations hushed when he passed by, and more than once, he noticed villagers casting furtive glances his way. Though his identity remained a secret, the ripples of his actions were growing wider.

De-Reece kept to his routine: mornings at the forge, afternoons training, and nights spent crafting pills in the secrecy of his small room. Each swing of the hammer resonated through him, not just a test of strength but a form of cultivation. The rhythmic clash of metal against metal, the heat searing his skin—all of it fed into his body tempering, forging him as surely as the blades he hammered into shape.

It was during one of these afternoons, with the sun casting long shadows over the training grounds, that Kalia appeared.

De-Reece was in the midst of running Solar through a coordination drill—simple attacks that combined his own movement with the beast's swift strikes—when he caught the subtle presence at the edge of the clearing. Kalia leaned against a tree, arms crossed, her expression carefully neutral.

"Didn't think you'd be much for training," she said finally, her voice light but edged with something sharper.

De-Reece didn't stop the drill. Solar darted around him in a fluid motion, his black fur shimmering faintly with every precise movement. "Survival demands it," De-Reece replied simply.

Kalia's gaze flicked to Solar, lingering a bit too long. "Your beast… he's not ordinary."

De-Reece allowed himself a small, unreadable smile. "Neither is this world."

A silence stretched between them before Kalia pushed off the tree and took a step closer. "The village's been talking about that hooded alchemist again," she said, watching him carefully. "Selling stronger pills this time."

De-Reece met her gaze, his expression calm but unreadable. "I heard the rumors."

"Did you?" Kalia's tone sharpened, though it still carried the faintest hint of curiosity. "Strange how someone so skilled would keep to the shadows. Makes people wonder what they're hiding."

He could feel the weight of her words. She wasn't accusing him—at least, not directly—but the seed of suspicion had been planted.

De-Reece wiped his brow, letting the silence hang for a moment longer. "Maybe they're hiding because this village watches too closely."

Kalia's lips quirked, though it wasn't quite a smile. "Or maybe they watch because there's something worth watching."

Solar let out a faint growl—not hostile, but protective. The tension in the air thickened.

Then, just as suddenly, Kalia took a step back. "We're training again later," she said, her voice lighter. "Joran will be there too. You should join us."

De-Reece tilted his head slightly. "Why?"

Kalia shrugged. "Curiosity."

He studied her for a moment before giving a slow nod. "I'll think about it."

As Kalia turned to leave, she paused. "You're not like the others here," she said softly. "But that doesn't mean you're invisible."

Then she was gone, leaving De-Reece alone with Solar once more.

He exhaled slowly, his mind already racing. The quiet rise was no longer so quiet.

Belar sat at the edge of the market square, his mind a storm of quiet calculations. His gnarled fingers absently traced the rim of an empty clay cup—not from boredom, but as a methodical rhythm, a way to anchor himself as his thoughts spiralled. He wasn't a fool. The sudden appearance of high-quality spiritual pills had rippled through the village, stirring hope and hunger alike. It wasn't just curiosity gnawing at him—it was a concern, maybe even a flicker of fear. Someone with that level of alchemical finesse wasn't an ordinary passerby. They were dangerous. They were powerful. And they were here. his gnarled fingers absently tracing the rim of an empty clay cup. The air buzzed with the low murmur of villagers haggling and exchanging goods, but his mind was far from the clamour of bartered grain and cloth. His focus sharpened as his gaze flicked across the square—waiting, watching.

The hooded alchemist had struck again. Stronger pills this time—low-level spiritual healing and body tempering, but with a potency that was anything but ordinary. That kind of quality didn't just appear overnight. Belar knew alchemy. He wasn't the best—perhaps not even close—but he'd learned enough in his years to spot true skill when it surfaced.

And this hooded figure? They were a storm on the horizon.

Belar's thoughts twisted like a vine around the question: who was this person? Not one of the villagers, that much he was certain. The young hopefuls barely grasped the basics of concocting pastes and ointments, let alone refining spiritual pills. No, this was someone with knowledge—and not the kind taught in remote villages.

His gaze settled on a familiar figure at the edge of the market. De-Reece.

A quiet young man, reserved, but not meek. There was a steadiness in his step, an alertness in his eyes that Belar recognized—because it mirrored his own. De-Reece was an enigma, one that had appeared not long before the hooded alchemist. Coincidence? Belar didn't believe in such things.

Rising from his perch, Belar adjusted his worn robes and approached with the unhurried gait of a man who had all the time in the world. De-Reece was inspecting a bundle of herbs at one of the stalls, his expression calm, but his posture coiled—like a blade hidden in silk.

"Good selection today," Belar said casually, his voice gravelly but smooth.

De-Reece barely glanced at him. "Seems so."

Belar picked up a sprig of Firegrass, rolling it between his fingers with practised ease. The herb's crimson edges and faint spicy aroma were unmistakable, but Belar didn't just look—he tested. A slight press between his thumb and forefinger released a wisp of heat, a telltale sign of its potency. It was fresh, perhaps gathered within the last day. His mind flicked back to his early days as an apprentice, recalling the sting of mishandling Firegrass and the long lectures that followed. He wasn't just an idle alchemist—he had bled for his craft, burned his hands, and learned through pain and patience. This wasn't a plant you stumbled upon or recognized by chance. It required training and discipline. Another thread of suspicion tightened in his thoughts. Whoever the hooded alchemist was, they knew more than just the basics. turning it over in his fingers. "You have an eye for herbs. Not many your age would know the worth of these."

There it was—a flicker of something in De-Reece's eyes. Recognition, maybe. Or wariness.

"I get by," De-Reece replied evenly.

Belar smiled faintly, his lips barely curving. "Getting by doesn't teach a man to distinguish Firegrass from Bloodthorn at a glance." He let the words hang, studying De-Reece's reaction.

A beat of silence.

De-Reece's expression didn't shift. "Maybe I've been paying attention."

Belar chuckled softly, a sound like dry leaves rustling. "Or maybe you've been taught."

Another pause—longer this time.

De-Reece met Belar's gaze, his eyes a pool of quiet intensity. "Is there a reason you're asking?"

Belar's fingers tightened ever so slightly around the sprig, the subtle shift betraying more than mere curiosity. His mind raced behind a veil of calm—was De-Reece's poise born from innocence, or was it the carefully controlled mask of someone used to keeping secrets? The boy's steady gaze, the lack of fluster at his probing remarks—it didn't sit right. Belar wasn't just grasping at shadows; there was a shape within the mist, and De-Reece stood too firmly at its center. His grip on the Firegrass pulsed once before he forced his hand to relax, the tiniest slip of tension hidden beneath a neutral smile. around the sprig. "Curiosity." He let the word settle, a subtle echo of Kalia's parting remark the day before. "A man who knows herbs might know other things too. Like… alchemy."

For a moment, the market noise seemed distant, a muffled backdrop to the unspoken tension between them.

Then De-Reece, calm as ever, set the herbs back on the stall and turned slightly to face Belar. "Alchemy's a rare craft. Wouldn't expect to find much of it in a place like this."

Belar studied him, every word, every blink, every shallow breath. "Rare, yes," he murmured. "But not impossible."

A stretch of silence, each man testing the other's resolve.

Finally, Belar gave a slight nod. "If you ever want to… talk herbs, my door is open."

De-Reece inclined his head, but said nothing.

As Belar turned and walked away, his mind churned. The hooded alchemist remained a mystery—but Cheon Ma De? He was a thread worth pulling.

And Belar intended to unravel him.